“Married to the Cruel Tycoon”

Blackwell Estate – Early Evening

The Blackwell estate glittered like a cathedral carved from sin and wealth. Evening sunlight bled gold across the marble courtyard where over a hundred guests mingled under crystal chandeliers suspended from wrought-iron arches. Violinists played beneath rose-draped trellises, their music soft, haunting, and almost mournful.

Selene stood at the top of the steps, cloaked in white.

Not ivory. Not pearl.

But snow—cold and unyielding.

The silk gown whispered with every breath she took, fitted so perfectly it felt more like a shroud than a wedding dress. Custom-made, like everything in this world. And like everything here, it didn't fit her.

She wasn't the bride.

She was the offering.

And her groom?

Late.

The hush from the crowd grew heavier with each passing second. Reporters waited with cameras aimed. Political families, foreign dignitaries, and old-money socialites eyed her with concealed amusement.

She doesn't belong here.

She's not Claudia.

Why would he choose her?

Selene heard them.

She burned anyway.

Blackwell security flanked the garden with earpieces and clinical expressions, ensuring everything looked perfect. Except it wasn't. Because Selene wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this gown. Not in this spotlight. Not next to a man who didn't love her—only owned her.

And then…he arrived.

Dante Blackwell didn't walk. He arrived. A force, not a man. Dressed in a matte black suit that looked sharp enough to bleed, he emerged from the shadows of the estate with two things: power and detachment.

His eyes met hers—barely.

His face was unreadable.

His arm extended.

She took it.

Because she had no choice.

---

The Ceremony

No vows were exchanged.

No music swelled.

No words of love.

Just signatures on paper. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs exploded. And Selene's name—Mrs. Selene Blackwell—was inked into a contract that had nothing to do with hearts.

And everything to do with blood.

The officiant gave a practiced smile. "You may now kiss the bride."

Selene turned to Dante.

He leaned in.

And brushed her temple with a dry, almost disdainful kiss.

The crowd clapped politely. The photographers cheered.

But Selene felt nothing. Not warmth. Not pride. Not joy.

Just ice.

---

Enter Claudia Devereaux Dante's ex fiancée.

A hush sliced through the courtyard like a scalpel.

Then, the sound of stilettos.

Click. Click. Click.

Claudia Devereaux emerged in a white gown that shimmered like vengeance. Her blonde hair was coiled in a crown braid, her lips painted the color of blood. She walked like she still owned the place.

She didn't look at Selene.

She only looked at Dante.

"I must've misplaced the invite," she said sweetly, her voice floating over the stunned crowd. "But I couldn't miss your big day."

Selene's jaw clenched. Her heartbeat pounded.

Claudia stepped forward. One breath. Then another.

And kissed Dante on the cheek.

Right there. In front of everyone.

Right in front of his wife.

Selene couldn't breathe.

Gasps erupted. Flashes burst like gunfire. Some guests whispered. Others smirked.

Dante didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't even wipe his cheek.

When Selene turned to him, her eyes pleading for something—anything—he simply looked away.

He left her there.

Alone.

Publicly.

Broken.

Claudia turned with a laugh like glass shattering. "Best of luck," she said, barely glancing at Selene. "I hope you enjoy what's left of him."

Then she was gone.

And the wedding that wasn't…was over.

---

Later That Night – The Blackwell Penthouse

The Blackwell penthouse was silent—eerily so. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline like a throne built above the world.

Selene stormed through the hall in the shredded remains of her gown. Hairpins fell behind her like breadcrumbs. The dress was torn at the back from where she'd tried to escape it. Her hands shook as she shoved open the bathroom door and stared at her reflection.

Eyes rimmed with smeared eyeliner. Lipstick faded. Shoulders squared.

She didn't look broken.

She looked furious.

The door opened behind her without a knock.

Dante.

No jacket. Sleeves rolled. Tie loose. Power still clinging to him like a second skin.

"You embarrassed me," she hissed.

He shut the door. Quietly. Controlled.

"No," he said. "Claudia embarrassed you.You just stood there."

"You let her humiliate me."

"She didn't touch you."

"She didn't have to." Selene's voice rose. "You let her mark you. You let the world see it."

Dante stepped closer. "The world doesn't care how you feel. And neither should you."

Selene blinked, her throat tight. "Is that what you think marriage is? Silence and survival?"

He looked at her—finally looked. "This isn't a marriage, Selene. It's an alliance. And alliances don't come with affection. They come with leverage."

Tears stung at the edge of her vision, but she refused to let them fall. "Then I hope you choke on your power."

He smiled—slow and wicked. "Careful. You're starting to sound like someone dangerous."

"Maybe I am."

Dante's eyes flicked down her body, then back up to her face.

"Prove it."

She stepped forward, inches from him. "One day, someone will bring you to your knees. And when they do…I hope they remember how you made me feel tonight."

Dante's gaze darkened. His hand brushed a strand of hair from her cheek—almost tender.

But the warmth never reached his voice. "Then make sure they come fast, Selene. Because you only have one year."

He turned toward the bedroom door, his back to her like she was already a memory.

---

He paused at the doorway, not looking back.

"Your closet's been stocked. Your security detail is armed. Your obligations begin at dawn."

Then he added, softly—but sharply:

"If someone disrespects you again, don't look at me to save you."

He looked ov

er his shoulder, eyes cutting.

"Prove you deserve the crown you stole."

And then he was gone—leaving Selene alone with her rage, her shame…

And her new name.

Mrs. Selene Blackwell.

---